An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(44)

“We have to go, now.” He glanced down at the items on the dirt floor around him. “Take it all; the saddle, the blankets, and don't forget the water bladder. We can fill that later. He nodded at the dangling from the fishing string. And that.” The leather pouches that had been packed with wild vegetables and wild berries were empty now. He pointed to them. “And those. Leave nothing behind.”

A shadow fell over the cave opening, and Dalla glanced uncertainly outside. “The clouds are coming in again, and it's growing near dusk. Traveling in the dark—”

“We don't have a choice. Now gather the things.”

She immediately bent down to snatch up the empty pouches and the water bladder, slinging it over her shoulder by its leather strap. She gently pulled the horse blanket from his legs, and the one she'd been using from the ground nearby. She draped both over her shoulders. She reached down for the saddle while he struggled to stand, bracing his hands against the wall behind him as he dug his good foot into the ground and pushed himself upward.

She hurried toward him to help, but he brushed her off. “No. I can do this. Go take those things to the horse—Agnarr—and move quickly and silently. I'm right behind you.”

And he was, just after reaching for his ax and knife on the floor beside him. He gained his feet, but precariously, his leg throbbing with pain and threatening to give way beneath him when he put weight on the ball of his foot. Hugh took a step forward and gritted his teeth, fought the pain, fought the buzzing in his head, and the darkness that threatened to creep around his eyesight.

No! He would not succumb to the pain.

They had to get out of here before they were discovered. Dalla's life depended on it. So did his.

It took him quite a few minutes to meet Dalla where she had tied his gelding. Agnarr. He had to admit that it was a fine name for a fine horse. The gelding blew softly at the sight of him, and Hugh gave him an affectionate pat on his neck.

Dalla was in the process of smoothing the saddle blanket over the horse, the saddle leaning against her lower calf. To his surprise, he noted that Agnarr stood placidly while Dalla did these things, murmuring something to him in her native language. It sounded like a song. Whatever it was, his horse, who normally stomped, blew, and showed his teeth when anyone tried to approach him, even his good friend Maccay, stood calmly while Hugh’s new wife saddled him. She had apparently found some way to tame the beast in him.

Hugh’s respect for her burgeoned. She had taken care of him during his illness. She had made a thin broth with the leftover vegetables and berries he had found, soaking the remnants of the dried strips of meat in it before she fed him. She'd cleaned his wound. He wasn't even annoyed that she had obviously gone through his belongings and found his fishing line. She had caught a fish. She wasn't as helpless as he assumed.

He hung onto Agnarr's mane while Dalla moved to grab the saddle, but he spoke softly, halting her. “I'll do that. You keep watch.”

Dalla turned her back to him, half-hidden as she stood behind a tree, her gaze searching the landscape nearby and then further out. Her face shone even paler in the waning sunlight of day, and he couldn't help but imagine what was going through her mind.

While he struggled a bit, he one-handedly flung the saddle over the gelding's back, and then balancing the bulk of his weight against the barrel of his horse, managed to secure the saddle, then grabbed a fistful of Agnarr's mane and leaped up onto his back.

“Hand me the things.” He would rearrange things later, but for now, they had to concentrate on getting out of the area.

He took the extra blanket and draped it over his lap in front of him. The empty pouches followed suit, their leather straps draped over the rise of his saddle in the front. Without further ado, he extended his hand for Dalla. She clasped her fingers around his wrist, looked up at him, and nodded.

In moments, she sat behind him on the horse, tucked closely behind.

“Wrap your arms around my waist. Try not to move around too much; you're sitting on his kidneys, plus he's carrying both of us. We'll have to stop more frequently to give him rest and allow him to graze.”

She nodded her head against his back. She leaned close, and he felt her breasts pressed up against his torso, her arms tightly grasping his waist, her thighs touching his.

A host of feelings and emotions flooded through him as he tugged Agnarr's reins from the tree around which Dalla had wrapped them. Fear for Dalla, rage for him. The highlanders had stolen his mare, were obviously after his bride, and now forcing his hand. They were canvassing the area, looking for signs to determine which direction they were traveling. The Scotsmen would probably tell Dalla's uncle that they would most likely turn south, heading for central Scotland, away from the coastline.

While Hugh’s original intention had been to seek out his brother for a reunion of sorts, having to do it under his present circumstances, wounded and with a woman—his bride no less—and being hunted, had thrown his plans into disarray.

Softly, he clucked to Agnarr and tugged on his reins, turning his head northeast. It was slow going as he carefully guided his horse through the darkening forest, careful to keep him away from stones which a hoof could graze against, the sound echoing loudly in the growing darkness.

They topped a rise as the moon rose, giving him just enough light to look for the safest way down a rather steep slope dotted with curiously twisted rock spires. To the east lay the mire and bogs, but directly to the north rose rocky cliffs, spires, and canyons, looking dark and menacing in the growing darkness.